Friday the 13th of this month made six months exactly. I actually forgot on Friday that it had been six months since you had died. How could I forget?
I was sitting here reading when I got a mental image of you in hospital in pain, I couldn’t carry on reading, the image hurt me too much. So I’ve written this. I don’t care if anyone reads it. It’s not for everyone, it’s just to allow me to express my feelings. I hope you’re here with me and you can see what I am typing.
Dad, I’ve got so much to thank you for. I don’t know what sort of person I would be without the love and knowledge you gave me. People say I was always a “good boy” but you were the one who instilled with me a sense of religiosity and gave me the fervour to find out more about our religion. If I was raised by a different father who didn’t inculcate any religious knowledge into my being, perhaps I wouldn’t have wanted to research and explore the inexhaustible meanings of Islam, like I have done recently.
I miss you. I even think that I am repressing and blocking you out of my mind to help me deal with this. How could I be so strong about your death? Perhaps – as I have always known – it’s that things don’t particularly get to me. Other family members are devastated.
Before you died, when I knew you were very ill, I never once – from what I remember – prayed to God to extend your life; I prayed that He forgave you and allowed you to return to Him in Paradise. I hope, God willing, inshAllah, that I and the rest of my family will be reunited with you again.
I love you and can’t wait to see you.
Your son, Omar